


Mr Donut Doesn't Do Hospital Delivery

by sixwings (drfeels)



Category: Inazuma Eleven: Ares no Tenbin
Genre: Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 05:21:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15942608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drfeels/pseuds/sixwings
Summary: Even after his brain surgery, Nosaka is still up to his usual fare of trying to force-feed Nishikage everything. However, there's one matter Nishikage is still have trouble swallowing.





	Mr Donut Doesn't Do Hospital Delivery

**Author's Note:**

> This comes from the idea partially that Nosaka doesn't have a large appetite due to medication side effects and/or side effects of his illness, so he likes watching Nishikage eat as a sort of "living vicariously through him" enjoyment. I wanted a Nishikage who is struggling a little with knowing he should be happy but still being unable to fully feel it.
> 
> The song I wrote this to is Peter Gabriel's "My Body is a Cage", which I think thematically fits on a few levels. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTZQ2IB_x7c)
> 
> I know this fic is short, but I hope it is still enjoyable in spite of that. Thank you for reading.

“C’mon,” he says, pushing the fat white box of six donuts forward. “I want you to eat.”

“Nosaka-san…”

“It’s fine,” he says again, picking up his hospital-issue cup and straw and taking a long draught of water. “I mostly bought them for you.” He picks out the one with the matcha-flavored icing and grabs a tissue to set it on, before laying it down on the little tray table that’s set across his bed. “I claim this one, though. You can have the rest.”

“Can you have that?”

“The nurses said I can eat whatever I want,” he says, taking one small, neat bite. It leaves behind a perfect imprint of his front teeth in the milky green icing. “They like it when I eat.”

“Alright.” Nosaka’s left five for him: strawberry, chocolate, plain sugared, pon-de-ring, and one fat, fluffy one covered in searingly bright red icing. He points to it, nervously. He fears he already knows the answer. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” Nosaka says, setting his down, still with only one bite removed from it. “Sweet spicy chili pepper. Limited Edition. It’s the popular flavor right now for things, you know.”

Ah. As he'd feared.

He looks down at it and swallows thickly. Nosaka is so calm, the same as always. He should be too. They’ve removed the tumor. He’s been stripped of all of his hair, and bandages wind around his scalp, but he’s stable. Surgery had actually taken less time than the doctors had predicted, he’d said afterwards over the phone. 

Nosaka is acting like he always does, calling him here with a Line message specifically just to eat donuts with him.

He’s fine.

But still, his stomach won’t settle. Something heavy has taken up residence in his throat, something he can’t swallow down. 

Nosaka takes the chili donut out of the box and sets it on a tissue in front of him. “Try it. I want to know how it is.”

He takes a bite. It’s not bad. Sweet. Then, as he swallows, the burn starts. He gags slightly, and Nosaka holds out a cup of water. “You never really liked those flavors anyway.”

“Not really,” he says between sips of water. “Spice should stay in curry.”

He gets up to fill the cup with more water from the bathroom sink, and when he turns, Nosaka’s put the chili donut back in the box and replaced it with chocolate. His favorite. Though, despite how long Nosaka has been taking him on various food tours, he’s not sure if Nosaka knows that.

Chocolate. Much more satisfying. He eats the whole thing in three bites. Nosaka looks pleased, and reaches into the box, setting the strawberry-flavored one in front of him now. “More to your taste?”

“Yes.”

“Eat up.”

“You too,” he says, eyeing the matcha donut on Nosaka’s tray, which still only has one bite out of it. “Didn’t you say the nurses want you to eat?”

“In time.” Nosaka pushes the sugared donut on him now, once the strawberry one is down to one final bite in his hand. “What do you want for next time?”

“Next time?”

“When you visit next,” Nosaka says, with an amused smile. “What should we have to eat?”

“Anything’s fine.” He wipes the grains of sugar from the corners of his mouth and takes the pon-de-ring himself, before Nosaka has a chance to foist it on him. “But no sweet chili.”

“I’ll tell Anna-chan,” Nosaka says. “I’m sure she’ll pick something good.”

His stomach drops mid-chew, and he swallows, and it feels like he’s just pushed his mouthful of donut into some dark, empty void. “That girl?”

“You can say her name,” Nosaka says. “But yes. I asked her to bring the donuts for us.”

“You don’t have to make her do that,” he says, quickly. He can’t figure out what’s settling heavy within his ribs, and whether it’s jealousy or guilt. “I can bring whatever you want.”

“But then it’s not a surprise.” He sounds like he’s pouting, a little, which is a rarity. “She said she doesn’t mind.”

“ _I’ll_ get it,” he says. “Order something online. I’ll pick it up.” He gets up, forcing himself to swallow the rest of the pon-de-ring, desperate to get somewhere and sort out the anxiety that’s taken up residence in him now, replacing his heart with something that feels like a pincushion. “Message me when you want me to come.”

“Nishikage.”

That’s all it is, just his name. It makes him stop cold, the way Nosaka says it, the way he’s always said it. His world. That’s his entire world, the way Nosaka says his name, the way it rolls off his tongue and makes him stop dead in his tracks, with the urge to turn and kneel and say, _“For you, anything.”_

“Nosaka-san.”

Nosaka pushes the matcha donut towards him. “You didn’t taste this one.”

“It’s yours.”

“Dinner is soon,” he says, in a voice that Nishikage knows is hiding a lie, somewhere. “I’ll spoil my appetite.”

“I’ll take one bite,” he says, leaning down. “But I want you to finish the rest.”

Nosaka holds it up with his hand. “One bite, then. I promise I’ll eat the rest.”

He holds Nosaka’s thin, pale wrist in his hand to steady it, and bites down. He pulls away and chews, and Nosaka looks satisfied.

“You like it?”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s my favorite.”

He turns, leaving Nosaka with the still-uneaten chili donut in the box, and the matcha one back in front of him on his tissue, now with a large gouge torn out of it. “Finish it,” he says, before he leaves. “You promised. Message me for next time. Don’t make her do it.”

“I will.”

He closes the door lightly behind him, until there’s just a sliver visible of Nosaka, sitting in front of his tray, staring down at the matcha donut. He’d promised. He hopes that’s enough.

He licks a trace of matching icing from his own lips as he walks down the corridor to the elevators, still trying to push down the anxiety that’s boiling underneath his ribs. Matcha. Sweet. But also now, on his tongue, a bitterness from it still lingers.

It tastes like his love.


End file.
